


Back on Track

by Aquiter



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Biker AU, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Megan isn't a dick, No Sex, emotional!Jensen, mentions of past injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17169800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquiter/pseuds/Aquiter
Summary: Francis Pritchard is at the peak of his career in Team Sarif when he is forced to train with a partner between seasons. This partner is determined to get on Francis' nerves in every way possible, but somehow becomes the closest Francis can call a friend. A deep past is dug up and a mutual rival might be the best thing that happens to the two idiots in kangaroo leather suits.





	Back on Track

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, enjoy this stupid af fluffy, non-canon, yet still takes relationships from the first Deus Ex: HR and tweaks them a bit, fanfiction. I dived deep into feelings.
> 
> Comment with any tags you think are needed, I still have no clue how to tag things, first upload.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> P.S. Nothing is proof-read by me or anyone else.

“You did what?”

“Calm down,” The other man did an appropriate motion with his hands, “I knew this would upset you, Frank.”

“Upset me?” Frank put down his helmet on the nearby table, tools barely shoved out of the way for the item, “I can’t believe you hired a former _street_ racer to a _track_ racing team!”

The older man watched as Frank redid his ponytail, hair damp and messy from doing his daily routine on the track. He knew the younger wasn’t done, so he waited, throwing a small towel over for him to wipe his sweaty brow with.

“Can you hear how illogical that sounds, Sarif?” Frank pushed brown strands of hair out of his face and behind his ears.

“I would just like to give him a chance, I was sent some recordings of his races,” Sarif moved for the remote to the TV hanging on the wall of the workshop, “They are impressive, Francis.”

“I don’t need to see them!”

“Frank, you’re so set in your ways,” Sarif began, “I don’t think it’s good for you.”

Francis’ brow tightened, “What are you implying?”

“I have been looking for a training partner for you. I think this is just the guy you need,” Sarif smiled gently, hoping the other would calm down as he set down the remote, “He’ll meet you outside tomorrow morning. Show him around, let him do a few laps, maybe get to know him.”

-:-

Frank deaccelerated as he approached the racing circuit, the parking lot was placed right by the entrance building. Although it was their training facility, and Sarif sponsored small regional team races, it also doubled as Sarif’s secondary moto shop.

The larger building, sleek in its white and golden front, was the shop. Large showcase windows on the right gave outside onlookers a nice view of the showcase area, which had a high ceiling. The left part was for accessories like helmets, suits, and misc.

To the left was a much lower and longer building, similar style but a black replaced the previous white front with gold. That building was where Sarif’s racers had their own workshops and their bikes were safely locked up and stored.

Francis looked around as he parked his road bike, which was supposed to be dark grey and white with orange accents, but bad weather had dirtied it badly. While there was nobody to see it, Frank swore he would take care of it today.

And he swore when he took off his helmet and turned around, almost taking a step into another person. He lost his balance temporarily and took one step backwards, almost two if the stranger didn’t catch his arm in a firm grip.

“Careful,” The stranger said in the roughest voice he had heard, and he could swear it was a bad case of morning voice.

Frank recomposed himself and was given back control of his arm, “Thank you, stranger.”

“I was worried about your bike,” The man said, taking off his shades, wearing them despite the cloudy weather and soft morning sun when it peeked between clouds, “You almost knocked it over.”

Francis looked up at the stranger at that remark, annoyed at the slight height difference, “Whoever you might be, I have no business with you,” Frank took a quick look at the sleek trench coat and assumed he was there to see Sarif with those fancy clothes. Maybe a buyer, business partner, but _not_ a racer and therefore nothing with Francis to do.

“I’m Adam,” He said, persistent to keep small talking with Francis, “You might not happen to be Mr. Pritchard? Wendell Pritchard?”

“ _Francis_ Pritchard,” Francis hissed, cursing under his breath to let Sarif know he would quit the team if this happened again.

“Oh, Francis then,” Adam corrected himself, “I’m your new training partner, according to Mr. Sarif.”

Francis almost laughed at the prefix, but let it remain in favour of the reaction of their team leader when he hears it, “Well, I never wanted a training partner, but Sarif is determined to change my fully functional ways of racing. And here we are, let me give you a brief tour before you can take a few laps and try _really_ hard to impress me.”

Pritchard gave the man, still overdressed in the black trench coat, a brief tour of the shop before explaining that each of the racers had their own area. Then, after setting his duffel aside in his garage, Francis takes Adam to a watchtower.

“Here you see the main track, the grid is down to the right, you can probably see it yourself,” But Francis pointed at the starting point either way, “On the right we have a dirt pit, if that interests you.”

Adam nodded in response, “I’d love to test that, was years since I had some fun on a proper dirt track.”

Francis sighed, and thought that the damn man was as bad as they came, before he continued, “And to the left we have a smaller track. It’s probably a good starting point for your skill,” Much to Francis’ dismay, Adam didn’t react negatively to it. Instead, he found a reason for why it was positive, much to Francis’ annoyance, actually.

“I would probably need to do just that, tight curves were never one of my strong points on the streets,” Adam looked intensely at the curves and straights, “Would you mind if I did just that?”

“Sure, but unless you have your own gear and bike, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do,” Francis hoped for the best, getting rid of the man early so he could start his already late routine.

“Sarif actually let me in to dump some stuff in his area, and he let me borrow a bike until mine is finished,” Adam said as he followed Francis down again.

Francis’ blood was boiling. It was 9:41 am and he was already too angry to think straight as he watched Adam take off his stupid trench coat to reveal an equally black one-piece racing leather suit. The bumps of armour on the elbows, shoulders, hips, and knees were golden with a brass tint. Francis blushed and reacted with inner anger.

Sarif had already decked the guy out with a custom suit. Although there were no sponsors on it, Francis could spot the Sarif logo with no difficulty.

The guy was a joke, Sarif didn’t care what Francis thought, this Adam guy was on the team now. Francis groaned loudly and slid down in his seat when Adam exited the room, saying he was getting the bike. Francis groaned even louder with annoyance and sat up straight when Adam rolled in with a black bike, matching with the golden accents.

“Are you joining me?” Adam snapped Pritchard out of his raging thoughts, holding the bike up without any effort.

Francis stopped anything he was doing, and his thoughts made way for the important question: Was that a challenge?

“Yeah, as if that is a good idea,” Francis huffed. He knew the bike on sight, the sharp edges around where the engine was sitting was a screaming hint to the designs, he had seen their designer present them to Sarif a few months back for next year’s new model, “That’s the S-AJ-1000, I’m surprised you were allowed to borrow _that_.”

“I know the designer, Megan Reed, she convinced Sarif I would take good care of it.”

That explained where Sarif had gotten those recordings from. Megan was the lead designer for Sarif and an important figure in marketing, no way Sarif would deny her if she had pulled one of those railgun-arguments on him.

“If it makes you feel more comfortable, this’ll be my first time riding it, so I’ll take it slow,” Adam smiled and kicked a nearby stand to the front of the bike, letting him stand up straight again.

Francis could see the tight leather strain over Adam’s chest, the black ridges caught the fluorescent light of the workshop’s strong lights despite having a matte texture. The sharp golden armour complemented the naturally strong build Adam had probably gained over his time doing street racing, and however much Francis hated that thought, it sounded good to be his own mechanic, racer, and manager.

“What?” Adam asked, suddenly startling to study his suit, “Did I put it on backwards?”

Francis caught himself staring, not that he should care. The other man packed enough junk to put his rival, Zeke, to shame. Why did he know that? Francis asked himself and looked further down Adam’s suit, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bulge two second later.

“I’ll join you, let me change first,” Francis quickly escaped to his own workshop after telling Adam to wait outside and opening the garage door.

When the two of them reappeared, Francis wore his white and light orange suit, black armour pieces laying flatter and more fluid on his suit compared to Adam’s. His bike’s fairing was less sharp and, on sight, had better aerodynamics than Adam’s, but Francis was sure Sarif wouldn’t let a prototype ride on his track without having gone through enough testing.

The two riders seated themselves and put on their helmets. Each helmet worn on Sarif’s tracks had to have a built-in communication device during practice for safety reasons, and if you were to wander around any place that was not the public areas you had to wear an earpiece for the same reasons.

“Alright, Adam, I’m going to record a message for the the logs,” Francis gave the other a heads up, “The time is 10:14 am, Francis Pritchard and Adam…”

Adam probably noted that Francis had stated his own surname and quickly interrupted, “Jensen.”

“Adam Jensen are about to do a few laps. We’re on our own bikes which are written in the system, and in case this was the only thing Sarif _didn’t_ already do for Mr. Jensen, he’s on a prototype of S-AJ-1000,” Francis ended the message and returned to speak to Adam, “Okay, let’s light the fire and head down to the grid, Jensen.”

“Will do,” Jensen replied.

The two bikes were set on the starting blocks which were set outside the garages by the port, activated by stepping on a plate on the left or right side. The two of them let the rear wheels of their bikes spin a few seconds before they popped the clutch.

The simultaneous start-up of the bikes showcased the power in Sarif’s beasts. It echoed all the way down to the shore opposite of them and back as they waited for the engine to warm up a bit.

Adam was first to roll off his block and throttle away at a slow speed to the grid. The sun peeked through the clouds perfectly for Pritchard to see the golden accents of Adam’s suit and bike catch the light and leave magazine-worthy light streaks as it made its way down the asphalt.

Pritchard’s bike wasn’t as blinding, but the white and orange matching suit and bike was nothing you missed on the dark track as he, too, rolled off the block and followed in the shimmer of Adam.

The dismissed the grid and lined up beside each other. Francis’ eyes searched for Adam’s behind the dark visor, but Jensen didn’t look his way, so Pritchard focused equally hard on the light above them. He had grabbed the remote for the light and strapped it to the tank of his bike, pressing the ready button.

Red lit the glass and the two machines throttled… Red light still hovered above them, and they knew it was close… Black.

They were gently giving it full throttle, or as much throttle as was needed to accelerate at maximum. Pritchard easily took the lead over Jensen, being much more comfortable with the bike he had used for the past year in races, hitting the first apex of the track and accelerated away. He even took the time to flicker his tail light. In the distance, he could hear Jensen throttle angrily and push his bike with more courage.

When Pritchard pressed the button to signal the last lap, they had agreed on five laps around the 7-kilometre track, he wasn’t surprised to hear Jensen slowly creep up behind him. He had looked back to see the other man ride, and his form was indeed interesting, but good. Very good, to Pritchard’s dismay.

Adam could easily handle the bike’s power, but the design was still something he was getting used to. It was a much lower bike regarding seat height, and Adam’s knees showed signs of having ridden a heavily modified, maybe not street legal, bike previously seeing how much they occasionally tilted out from the slim fairing of the S-AJ.

The black bike came up beside the brighter one, and this time the visors faced each other on the first straight they accelerated into. Jensen carefully let go with one of his hands, placed it in front of the visor where his mouth would’ve been and blew him a kiss before he returned his eyes forward and sped away.

As much as Pritchard tried to catch up to the black bike in front of him, he couldn’t. His mind wandered to stare at the back of Jensen, he could see the muscles through the thick leather move as they leaned into the curve. Even though the speed was high enough to blow through a wall as they passed the fifth curve, it didn’t feel like a competition anymore.

Pritchard gently kept up with Jensen, keeping a safe distance to the other. Although his mind was mainly focused on observing the new rider’s style, in the back of Francis’ mind every movement of muscle in that tight black suit was recorded for future reference.

When they came to a stop at the side of the grid, where two female riders waited, their bikes hummed in appreciation, warm metal ticking inside the fairings as the sound of their engines faded to silence where they were parked in their portable stands.

“Good morning Pritchard,” One of the female riders greeted the shorter of the two men, dressed and ready in a black and neon orange suit. She eyed Jensen before turning to look at Pritchard.

“Faridah, you could’ve said something,” Francis smiled, pulling off his helmet and walking over to a small door in the wall, revealing an assortment of tools and technology. He returned with two earpieces, handing one over to Jensen.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your little routine, I know how irritated you got last time,” She crossed her arms over her chest, “Anyway, who’s this hottie?”

Francis twitched at the last word, “Sarif put this _street_ racer, can you believe it, on our team. Apparently, I need someone to practice with.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a _practice_ partner,” Faridah stepped close and turned Francis around just in time for him to catch the sight of Adam removing his helmet. A slight sheen of sweat highlighted his sharp cheekbones and sculpted jaw, “After all, me and Evelyn get along well. Our racing skills and _social_ life have improved vastly, and I know you need to improve one of them more than a little.”

Francis elbowed her side and walked back to his bike, “Sarif said my style was too rigid, and I suppose I can live with racing against someone in the off time.”

“So, what’s his name?”

“Adam Jensen.”

Faridah was taken back, a shocked expression passing over her face, “ _The_ Adam Jensen?”

“What do you mean _the_?” Francis asked, as if it was some joke, again.

“I mean, I know you don’t follow anything but the biggest and smallest track races, but if it’s _the_ Adam Jensen, it’s the guy who kickstarted Megan’s career,” Faridah explained to a stunned Francis, “He rode her designs more than ten years ago, when he was, like, young. So, like, _young_!”

“Wait, hold it, why haven’t I heard of this?” Francis put up a hand for her to calm down.

“Maybe because you never socialise with Megan Reed and is too stubborn to let her help you with designs unless it comes through Sarif?” The woman smiled with victory, hands on her hips as Francis could only agree with that, “He rode her bikes, yes, Megan’s bikes that she built, when he was 19. Won more than his fair share of races on the streets. Even when she got hired by Sarif, she kept making up excuses to go away for periods.”

“Did she meet up with him then?”

“Yes!” Faridah exclaimed, turning towards Jensen where he and Evelyn was making small chat, “Isn’t that right, Jensen?”

The called-out man looked up from his own conversation, “About what?” He hadn’t heard a word they were saying.

Francis stepped up, “Did Megan assist you during your street performances?”

Jensen looked at him, honest eyes peering from behind sunglasses he had brought with him, “Reed? Yeah, she was my mechanic until I… stopped racing.”

Faridah gasped beside Francis, hands flying up to cover her mouth, “You stopped racing? That’s horrible, what happened?” She was obviously starstruck.

Evelyn stood beside Jensen, utterly confused as the conversation continued, “I had an accident, crashed during an unofficial, not that any of them were official from the start, and recovered just in time for Sarif to ask me if I wanted to join his team.”

Francis was struck by lightning. Had Adam not ridden a bike until now since that crash? Was he fresh from some rehabilitation period? Were there any serious injuries?

“I broke my right leg and arm, couldn’t ride for a while. Did physical rehab and was in a pretty bad place if my career was to survive,” Jensen spoke calmly, helmet rested in his lap where he leaned against a table temporarily placed during off seasons, “Sarif saved my drunken ass.”

Francis felt a twinge of pain at the tone of Adam’s voice. There was regret and suffering in the last sentence. Then his mind returned with the stupid ‘he-is-a-street-racer-who-beat-your-ass’ with the added anger of the other just coming back to racing.

“Shit, well, I’m so excited to have you on this team!” Faridah could probably feel the tension, having just seen Adam roll in first with Pritchard a respectable distance behind, and pulled Evelyn to their own bikes.

Evelyn was a younger girl, only by four years, Faridah had taken under her wing two years ago, her dark purple and light grey suit wasn’t covered in as many sponsors as Faridah’s or Francis’ were, but she had a couple to her name. Faridah was a great teacher.

“Do you need help starting?” Jensen offered and moved to pick up on of the starting blocks he had seen in the booth in the wall.

“Oh, you hear that? Jensen’s starting our bikes,” Faridah said with too much excitement in Francis’ ears. But, he, too, ended up helping the women onto the track.

Jensen and Pritchard watched as the other riders took off before making their way to get off the track.

“I need to adjust my pegs, they’re wearing down too much in the curves,” Francis said, pushing his bike in front of him.

“You take the curves way lower than you need to,” Jensen criticized, “If you—”

“I’ll _adjust_ them,” Pritchard hissed and pushed harder to break the conversation.

They started their bikes in an area behind the wall by the grid and rolled back to the garage in silence. As Pritchard was changing out of his suit to shower, he could hear Jensen talk over the phone on the other side of the lockers.

“Yeah, it was exciting to be back on the track, I hope they allow you to be in the pit before my first race, if I get the doctor’s clearance,” Jensen spoke softly, his rough voice, which very much was not his morning voice, was smoother. Whoever he spoke to must mean a lot to him, “I’m just about to shower, then I need to meet said doctor. I have my last scheduled appointment with Therese tomorrow.”

Francis felt as if he was listening in to the conversation of a married couple. Softest ‘yes’ and ‘mm’ floated in the air as the person on the other end questioned Jensen.

“She just needs to clear me, then it’s up to the doctor to say yes or no to racing. He says it might be too taxing, after the meds I had some side effects as I told you,” Jensen paused, listening intently to the other person, “I know, let’s just hope for the best, Megan. Thank you and love you too.”

Shit, Francis cursed and hurried to get into the showers. To distract his useless mind. Get back into his routine, go and eat lunch and then… Should he invite Jensen for lunch?

Absolutely not, the man had caused enough disruptions for one day.

Francis caught himself staring into the wall of the shower cubicle, fists clenched, when he heard Jensen enter the area. His dark brown hair streaming over his face made it hard to look, but he caught a glimpse of Jensen’s body. Scarred, was the first word that came up in his head.

There was a long scar along his right lower leg and the right arm, probably to allow plates to screw his bone together. It had to have been an awful crash to put Jensen out of commission. The man was riddled with scars, but the last accident had probably been the worst out of all of them, and Francis doubted the broken leg and arm were the main reasons for his hiatus.

The other man entered the cubicle opposite to Pritchard, and he audibly gasped when he saw the back of the man. Deep scars ran along both sides of the spine from the neck to the small of his back. The spine itself looked more ridged and bumpier than that of a normal spine, if Francis was one to judge as a non-medical expert.

Once again, Francis caught himself staring over his own shoulder as Jensen washed his hair, muscles rippled beneath the skin, around the hard bumps of his spine. He does however write a mental note to ask about it as he tears his eyes away and finishes his own shower, returning to the locker area to dress and pack his stuff.

When Jensen emerges from the shower Francis speaks, “We on the team try to train every day, Evelyn is taking care of a kid, but she’s the only exception. Unless Sarif shoves a note in my face saying you’re allowed to do the same, I expect you to come in every day.”

“I’ll try my best,” Jensen took an extra breath, “But, since I’m still doing rehab, we should exchange numbers, so I can contact you if I’m unable to come in.”

Francis nodded and dug a business card out of his duffel, “Don’t you dare call if it isn’t important, a simple message will do.”

“Will do.”

-:-

Weeks passes by and Adam makes sure to drop in every day, slowly ending up spending more and more time the garage with Francis. He announces that while his rehab is still ongoing, the doctor somehow managed to clear him for racing next season. Upon hearing this Sarif begin setting Adam up in his own workshop. Right next to Francis.

“Hey, Francis,” Jensen pops his head out around the corner of the door between their workshops, “Did you hear about Ivan?”

“No, I didn’t Jensen,” Francis replied, wiping his hands and tools on a rag, “What happened?”

“He tried to ask Evelyn out on a date,” Jensen chirped, taking the start of the conversation as an invitation to enter Pritchard’s space. He sat down next to the other, a toolbox between them, “Malik was furious! She chased him out of the building with a portable angle grinder raised high.”

“Why would she do that?” Francis questioned as he put the tools into the toolbox, closing it and standing to store it away.

Jensen sighed, leaning back on his arms, “You really don’t know your work mates?”

Francis huffed, dusting off his cargo pants and re-rolling up the sleeves of his blue denim shirt neatly.

“Evelyn and Malik are, you know…” Jensen grinned and clapped the backside of his hand into the palm of the other in a steady rhythm.

“Come on, Jensen! Grow up,” Francis’ face turned red and he grabbed his jacket, “Let’s go for lunch.”

Jensen stood and ran to get his stuff. The warmer weather called for a lighter jacket, but the thin jacket coloured white was not something Francis thought Adam owned, “They are, without trying to offend anyone, a couple.”

“Get off their case, I didn’t need to know that.”

“I knew it would annoy you.”

“Shut it, please.”

They walked in silence to Francis’ bike, this one was red and could easier fit the two of them than his normal road bike. Francis had noticed Jensen didn’t ride his own bike to the track and asked about it. He didn’t expect Jensen to answer so honestly when the man explained his only bike had been wrecked, and what was the purpose of owning a bike when he couldn’t ride it?

Francis couldn’t disagree with the man, but to not even have anything to busy his hands with sounded boring. They seated themselves on the red bike and it softly hummed to life. Jensen sat behind, feet set on the buddy pegs.

-:-

Two months after Jensen had joined their team, Francis worked up the courage to question Jensen’s spine.

He knocked on the port door between their workshops, he could hear Jensen’s music through the wall and enjoyed it, to his surprise since he had always worked in complete silence before, “Jensen?”

Adam looked up from where he sat by one of the workbenches, the light turned down low except for the bright table lamp. He grabbed a plastic bag and covered what he was doing, “Yes?”

Francis ignored it and leaned lightly against the frame of the opening, “I’m sure it’s nothing, and probably not my business… And I excuse the way I found out, but your incident? The crash? You said you broke your leg and arm…” The doubting frown on his face probably asked the question for him, and Adam answered.

“And my back,” The man swivelled on the stool to face Pritchard, “I don’t try to mention it, but it’s not as if I hide it either.”

“Was it bad?”

Jensen laughed, “Yeah, I have plates and screws on five vertebrae and only screws in 4. I was lucky to be able to walk, or even live.”

“Sounds like a bad crash.”

Jensen fell silent, eyes wandering down to the floor, then shot up again, “Do you want to see? Most people are quite fascinated by the feel of it.”

Again, Francis felt as if he was intruding. He knew Jensen had a thing for Megan, and that Megan had a thing for Jensen, judging by their behaviour towards each other. To ask for Jensen to undress here felt… Inappropriate. But he didn’t say anything in time to stop Jensen as the man quickly pulled his dirty t-shirt over his head and turned his back to Francis.

“It’s all healed, so there should be no worries about pain,” Jensen clarified and waited for Pritchard to come closer.

Jensen did this himself, inviting Francis to do this, Pritchard thought as he stepped in close and traced one of the scars with his hand. His fingers were trembling.

“Although, it feels strange,” Jensen muttered under a breath that came out shaky.

Francis, upon hearing that, pulled back his hand, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” He checked the time and saw Adam do the same.

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” Jensen turned around with a smile, although weak, “But it’s getting late, and I’m starving. Want to eat dinner?”

“What?” Francis uttered.

Jensen was in the middle of putting his clothing back on, “Dinner, food, no? Are you not hungry?”

“I mean,” He was stepping into dangerous territory, “Sure.”

Francis pulled up to an apartment building. Did Jensen invite him to have dinner at his place? His passenger released the soft hold his hands had on Francis’ waist, and although he wore a jacket, he could still feel the outline of Adam’s hands as he stepped off and chained his bike.

Jensen was waiting by the entrance, holding the door open to lead the way.

Top floor, of course, Pritchard chuckled as they exited the elevator. There were two doors and Adam walked up to the one furthest away, unlocking the door and shutting off a hi-tech alarm by looking into a panel by the door. His impossibly green eyes then turned to meet Pritchard’s steel blue ones.

To his disappointment, Pritchard read the label on the door’s post slot.

  1. _AJ._



Megan Reed & Adam Jensen.

“Where’s Megan, by the way?” Francis tried to make it sound natural.

“I believe she and Sarif are out of town, meeting with a new sponsor,” Jensen pulled the door open and revealed the grand apartment.

Soft clicks of claws caught Pritchard’s attention, however, and he looked down to see a corgi jump up on Adam first before it noticed Francis. Its eyes beamed and the bum of it wiggled faster.

“His name’s Kubrick, he’s a good boy,” Jensen said with a cute voice, regaining Kubrick’s attention, “Usually Megan keeps an eye on him during the days, so I can practice, and she helped me when I was in the worst days.”

Francis felt his heart drop another level but regained his focus to take in the place instead, “It’s a nice place.”

Jensen made a sound of agreement, “Megan helped me find it, she has a few contacts, like we all do. Except you,” Adam verbally threw a plastic knife at Pritchard, knowing his non-existent relationship with his workmates.

Pritchard smiled despite already getting annoyed at the mention of Reed’s name.

“I’ll prepare dinner,” Jensen hung his jacket up and took Pritchard’s to do the same, “nothing you’re allergic to?”

“No,” Except Megan’s name.

“Good, have a look around if you’d like, shout if you need anything.”

Pritchard watched Jensen scurry away around a corner to the left, the sound of water running into a sink confirmed where the kitchen was. Kubrick had followed, so Pritchard was free to wander alone. Straight forward was a living room with a U-shaped sofa in front of a TV hanging on the wall on the left.

The two men made eye contact, much to Pritchard’s surprise, when he looked to the left into the open kitchen, only separated from the living room by a kitchen island. The part facing the couch was higher then the one in the kitchen, the former being lined with barstools. The walls were bright, but not white. More like a cold grey, making the whole space feel very open, especially seeing as the windows were huge, almost panoramic.

Francis turned around and walked to the right and through a door. Inside the room were books upon books, lined neatly in multiple shelves. He had never seen Adam as a bookworm, but here he was, and it was cozy with a large armchair and footrest. Kubrick had a small bed to sleep in, too, by one of the maroon walls.

Exiting, Francis knew he had to investigate the _second_ floor. Who had a second floor in their apartment? Adam Jensen did, and it made Francis curious, who silently climbed the stairs as if he was sneaking.

On the second floor the walls were a dark lavender, and straight ahead from the stairs were glass doors leading to a large balcony. Francis looked around, and although he was intrigued, he knew to not peek into their bedroom and returned downstairs, taking a seat on one of the bar stools.

“You satisfied with your look around?” Jensen asked, eyes directed down at the cutting board as he diced meat into cubes and threw them into a pot.

“Yes, impressed even, if I dare say,” Francis leaned his chin on a hand as he watched Adam work. The sizzling of meat filling the air with a constant sound, “What’re we eating?”

“Just something easy, stew. I usually don’t cook much.”

I bet Megan cooks for you, having a meal ready for you when you come home, Francis thought, blood boiling as his mind brought the woman up again. He decided to keep his mouth shut, watching Adam drop carrots, root vegetables, and quartered onions into the pot, followed by some broth and a lid to top it off.

“There, we have half an hour until it’s ready,” Jensen announced and leaned on the bench in front of Francis, “You want something in the meantime?”

“No, I’m good. Can I ask you something?” Francis was still grumbling on Adam’s injuries.

“Shoot.”

Then he hesitated. He didn’t have any right to know the details of it, Francis had barely known the man long enough to call him a friend. To suddenly feel as if the man trusted him enough to take any question Francis could throw at him felt wrong.

“You okay?” Jensen asked, standing up straight to wander to the pot, stirring it with a large wooden spoon.

“Yeah, it’s nothing… What sort of races did you do before?” Francis switched up the subject and they side tracked to talk about work. As it should be for the first time colleagues meet up at someone’s place.

They ate while keeping up with the topic at hand, enjoying the meal with light conversation until Adam decided to clean the table, refusing any help from Francis. They had momentarily side tracked onto the topic of movies, and Adam was determined to show Francis one of his guilty pleasures.

“This is the guiltiest pleasure I’ve witnessed,” Francis commented 15 minutes into the movie as the main character tripped and threw his drink at the female counterpart, “It’s a stupid plot, of a stupid romcom, with stupid lines.”

Adam laughed and pulled his legs up on the sofa, half lying against the armrest on his side, “I agree, but it’s why it’s so good to watch.”

“No, I’d rather fall asleep, I’m so exhausted.”

“Feel free to, I won’t stop you,” Jensen answered, almost too seriously to Pritchard’s ears, “After all, you did _almost_ beat me today.”

Francis lightly threw a pillow at Jensen, who threw a blanket back at him, “Thanks,” he joked and threw it out over himself as they continued watching the movie.

-:-

The smell of coffee woke Pritchard and the sounds of someone being in the kitchen roused him to the edge of the fog of sleep. Sleep. Shit, he fell asleep.

Pritchard sat up, the tight ponytail had pulled at his hair uncomfortably, but he hadn’t woken up by it. The blanket slid down his body to pool around his waist, in his lap. Adam stood in the kitchen, brewing coffee, making breakfast.

It was Saturday and Pritchard reminded himself that Sarif almost never let his employees work during weekends, so Megan would return today. Soon? He probably had to leave, maybe Jensen was making breakfast for her.

“What time is it?” Francis asked as he pulled the hair tie, his hair let loose. He brought a hand up to ruffle it, sighing with content as the tension released all the way down his neck.

“It’s breakfast time,” Jensen smiled and set a cup of coffee on the bar, “It’s 9, you seemed to be so content on the couch, so I let you sleep in.”

Francis stood, his clothing wrinkled from sleeping in it, and made his way over to the holy brew, “I need to get down to the track then.”

Jensen looked at him dumbstruck, “Sarif won’t let us do weekends.”

“Well, he hasn’t stopped me yet,” Francis laughed and sipped at the cup. The warmth soothed him, “There were a few small things I couldn’t do yesterday since we rode for so long.”

Jensen nodded in understanding and they sat in silence enjoying the coffee. The sun basked them in a soft light until Francis stood up to leave.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Francis squatted down and said farewell to Kubrick as well before he left, Adam waving at him before closing the door. The elevator ride down felt heavy with regret. His bike wanted to turn around and ask Adam if he could stay. His mind refused to focus on the part needing fixing in front of him.

-:-

Then their days continued. They did laps together, occasionally joined by Faridah and Evelyn, a couple of times Sarif came down. And that was the worst thing that could happen this day.

Francis sat on his stool with a clear view in to Adam, speaking lightly of some upcoming meeting Adam was going to with Sarif, while throwing a rubber band ball to each other.

“It’s very nice to see you’re coming along well,” Sarif interrupted and walked in in his more casual costume which dropped the vest and tie and swapped trousers for dark jeans.

“Good afternoon, David,” Pritchard greeted the man.

“Boss,” Jensen said, louder to be heard one room away.

“Adam, I’d like to talk to you, are you busy?” David asked and walked through Pritchard’s workshop to Jensen’s, closing the door behind him.

The last thing Francis could hear was Jensen saying they were going to try out the dirt track later and David positively telling him the special bikes were down by that track and that they were free to borrow as those who used the dirt track the most had their own, private bikes.

Then silence settled around Francis until Sarif reemerged and said farewell to Pritchard who was on the floor tinkering with his bike.

The two of the remaining people in the room, as Jensen had followed behind Sarif, dressed in the suits they had picked up the day before for this occasion. Jensen looked absolutely hyped out of his socks to pull on the race suit.

When they cleaned the bikes and began walking back Jensen began laughing first.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Francis joked and rubbed his cheek with a still gloved hand, smearing mud across the already muddy skin, “Oh, wait, I think this is what you wanted.”

Adam was laughing too hard to notice Francis grab a handful of mud from his sleeve and throw it at him, hitting him square in the temple, “Hey, stop that!”

“It’s not as if you didn’t already need a shower,” Francis laughed, and a small mud-battle ensued back to the changing rooms.

The two undressed and Francis followed behind Adam into the showers, worried eyes grazing Adam’s spine, “Hey, are you okay, Adam?” Francis asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your back looks like it’s hurting.”

Jensen dropped the smile he had previously held, “Is it showing a lot?” He asked, and gently rubbed the small of his back.

“It looks red, are you sure you’re good to race?” Francis asked, his hands clenched by his side, worried he would be overcome by the need to reach out and soothe the angry skin. He decided to instead meet Adam’s eyes and immediately lashed out when he saw the sadness behind the slight shine, “You haven’t been lying to us, have you?”

“No!” Jensen backed into the showers when Francis approached him, “I can explain, but let’s shower first, yes?”

Francis’ breathing was agitated, his eyes darted around Jensen’s face for more hints that he was lying, but he saw none, “Okay, but it better not be anything serious.”

The shower was thick with fog when Francis heard the muffled sob as he enjoyed a few more minutes under the warm spray, almost drowned out by the spray of the showerheads, the water hitting tiles. He turned and saw Jensen stand with his forehead leaned against the wall, hands clasped around the back of his head and shoulders shaking, “Hey, Jensen!” Francis called out, his voice threatening to crack from the worry growing into a tumor in his throat.

The other man didn’t answer except for the muffled sounds now echoing more clearly as Francis turned his shower off and made his way over, wrapping a towel around his own waist and grabbing Adam’s, “Hey, what’s up with you today?” He put a hand on Adam’s shoulder and had to catch the man when his knees gave out below him.

“Shit, sorry,” Adam exclaimed when he felt Francis wrap an arm around his chest to prevent him from hitting the floor too hard, “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it.”

“Is this about what you and Sarif were talking about?” Francis decided to dive in, head first, without looking both ways. Adam turned in his arms, took the towel and covered himself, both sitting under the spray of water.

Adam’s head hit Francis’ shoulder and stayed there as the shaking grew more violent.

Francis could feel Adam nod, despite the shaking. It must be something serious if the other trusted him enough instead of going to Megan with it. Maybe it had something to do with Megan.

“Sarif, he, uh, asked me if I was doing fine. And I didn’t want to lie to him,” Adam began, trying to make it look as if he was wiping water out of his eyes, “I told him my back was making itself known, so he demanded to know my doctor’s number.”

“Is it that bad?” Francis let his arms wrap themselves around Adam, but the taller man slid out from his hold to sit against the wall instead, one knee pulled up against his chest while the other laid straight along the wall.

“He warned me that if I continue training this hard, I might increase the risk of having to go back to my medicine. I’m not completely healthy yet, there’s still some inflammatory things going on,” Adam breathed, rubbing his face with both hands, avoiding Francis’ eyes, “He’s taking me with him on a meeting to present next year’s series for our sponsors, with Megan… In case I can’t race anymore, he still wants me in the company.”

Francis stayed silent, his own thoughts preventing him to come up with anything to say. Was Adam scared of having to tell Megan why he was with them? Was he scared of not being able to ride again? Was the medicine so bad? Was he afraid Megan would leave him if he couldn’t ride anymore, since that’s how they met?

“We’re leaving next week, I’ll use that time to rest. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it feels,” Adam rubbed his back again, fingers tracing the ends of the scars, “But if it is, would you mind training with me tomorrow. I’d like to try beating that record. To show them I’m more than capable still. To motivate them to keep me as maybe a wild card… Just let me race still!”

Francis knew of the record. It was his own record, and Adam would beat it to impress David, more importantly Megan, to let him ride still. Something like jealousy bubbled up in Francis, but he hid it in favour of having Jensen showing the weak side of him, handing over this much trust to Francis.

“Sorry, let’s get out before we drown in my depression,” Jensen tried to make fun of the situation, probably noticing Francis’ silence. But the redness in his eyes and in the corners, where he had rubbed too hard to cover the fact that he had been crying, were hard to cover up.

And both of their towels were wet.

“I’ll go get us some new towels, can’t get dry in these,” Francis stood, and turned the shower off, hoping he would see Jensen sitting somewhere that was not the floor when he returned. He walked down the hallway towards a storage room he knew had towels when he heard Malik talking.

“So, I promptly told him it was off limits, but he didn’t- Jesus Christ, put on some clothes!” She shouted, jokingly covering Evelyn’s eyes when they saw Francis’ towel.

“I’m not in the mood, sorry Malik,” Francis excused himself and walked past them.

“Hey, you know where I am if you need to… talk,” Faridah tried, but Francis ignored her.

-:-

Fuck this, fuck life, fuck him, fuck her… Fuck me.

Francis swore in his bed. His apartment was silent, as always, but it felt emptier now. In the morning he would be alone in the garage. In the afternoon, maybe Faridah would show up. Late at night he would say bye to nobody as he rode back home, and this would repeat itself three more times after that, until Adam returned on Friday.

It didn’t look good, the taller had almost been limping in pain when Francis dropped him off at home to rest.

But it didn’t matter, because the next day Adam had showed up in full racing focus and spared no time to warm up, popping a few pills Francis didn’t dare to ask what they were, before beating his within the hour.

And the hour after that Megan had escaped the last-minute reviewing of their presentation to come down and congratulate Adam, hugging him. And Adam’s arms had raised and embraced the woman back. The smile spreading across Adam’s lips brushed a gentle kiss on top of Megan’s head before they broke apart and she took him out for lunch.

Pritchard knew he would have to take it back. Maybe Jensen wouldn’t want to race anymore if it was that easy to beat the Sarif team’s record? Maybe he saw a better future working in the same department as Megan?

Pritchard couldn’t believe it.

He got dressed and went out for a walk. He needed something to kick his own bike up a notch, to regain the place as the record holder. Francis vaguely knew what to do, what to _get._

-:-

On Tuesday, the day after Adam left, Francis showed up at the track in full gear. The cold air would be perfect for him to focus on the task at hand. He had installed a SLAW-0906 to replace the normal system regulating the fuel and air injection. It had taken all day yesterday, so he didn’t have any time to test it, but he had to beat it today.

No rest for idiots, he thought, knowing full well the new part was a risk, maybe even illegal. But thinking back to the last few months, Francis didn’t regret anything as the starting block spun his back wheel and he popped the clutch. The engine, still going on the old system, roared to life.

“Francis Pritchard, taking the beast out for a casual stroll to beat a record. It’s 7:25 am,” Francis did one lap to warm up before he lined his wheel up with the starting position. He pressed the ready button and activated the timer. The numbers were displayed on the large screen above the grandstand.

The red light came on, and when it switched off Francis gave the engine gas, accelerating towards the first curve. Then the second curve, after which was the straight Adam had blown him the kiss, and Francis swore, kicking the new system into motion.

At first it felt good, he felt more power as he throttled. Exiting the next curve, he could feel that he was gaining time, accelerating faster out of the apex. He could see the point of the shore and knew he would need to deaccelerate to take the hairpin coming up.

And he was just about to enter the apex, had just given the bike a nice twist of the throttle, when his bike locked up. An explosion occurred in the fairing, but it happened too fast for Francis to process. Only when Francis was thrown over the wall with surprising height did he realize what was about to happen.

He could see the shore rapidly come closer as he descended. Sand flew around him at the first impact. Then he began skidding, but not for long until his now rag dolling body began skipping across water.

Francis’ helmet was filling with water.

_He was quickly being pulled under._

-:-

“Adam, are you listening?” Megan snapped the man out of his unfocused stare into the opposite wall, “They’re here any minute, you know what to say? Which answers you can answer and which ones to leave for me or Sarif?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it all under control,” Adam sighed, “I’m just not here right now, sorry, I’ll get it together.”

Megan pouted, “I know you wanted to break the record to impress him, but don’t let it interrupt this meeting.”

Adam nodded and sat up straight, waiting for the important people to filter in.

He couldn’t believe Francis hadn’t expressed any type of joy, maybe Adam should’ve told Francis why he was training so hard? Was it too late? Francis didn’t show too much interest in him either way, especially after their dinner. Had Jensen taken it too far too early?

Had he scared Francis away?

Adam groaned internally at the thought. He was so useless.

The meeting began, luckily before Adam could drown himself in more depressing thoughts. It was too early to feel the need for a drink.

-:-

_Only the actions of a love-struck idiot could put Francis in the water, surrounded by darkness. Were the days with Adam worth it? Worth this? He had never cared before for anyone, why begin now?_

_It’s not as if he was jealous that they had found love, no, Francis knew now that he was jealous because Adam had someone else. And now he would never be able to tell the man. Not after killing himself trying to impress him._

_In the end, he probably didn’t have a chance either way. A workaholic with no real friends or anything close to a friendship couldn’t make for a good lover. Lover? Was that what he wanted the two of them to be? Had wanted them to be, it was impossible now. Plus, Adam had Megan._

-:-

When the meeting was over, they waited for Sarif to finish a conversation with a sponsor when the boss’ ringtone rang through the room.

“Yes, Malik? He what? When did this happen? Is he okay?”

The words were like an anvil dropped on Adam’s heart. It sunk so deep into his stomach he felt the need to throw up. He quickly searched for comfort in Megan’s eyes, who had also heard it.

“He’s in what hospital? Is he awake, I mean, what’s his condition?” Sarif excused his sponsor and didn’t see Megan catch the man to continue the conversation, “Do you know what happened, was it sabotage? We’re only a few months from the next season.”

Adam felt like sinking into the ground and reappearing beside Francis, hoping the man was okay. But when David’s eyes met his, he knew it was very much not okay. Nothing was fine. David ended the call and walked up to Adam.

“Son, you need to head back. Me and Megan…” David trailed off when he saw Adam swallow repeatedly and grabbed for the closest bin, almost shoving Adam’s head down it before the racer could make a mess on the floor.

Megan lead the sponsor outside and talked to Sarif briefly, getting the few details they had.

Jensen didn’t hear a word; his ears were ringing, and his heart was dropping the loudest beat in history. He felt a napkin wipe across his mouth, and he grabbed it himself to clean up the best he could in the setting they were in.

“Adam, Pritchard crashed earlier this morning. He’s unconscious in the hospital, alive, but too many injuries to count,” Megan took Adam’s hand and held it close to her heart, causing Adam to sit up and look her in the eyes, “I know what he means to you, and you know I’ll be here for you. You can always count on me to be your advisor, for anything, like that time you came out.”

Adam smiled, despite the tears welling up in his eyes, “I was afraid to get kicked out of the race if anyone found out I slept with the bartender… He was hot.”

Megan smiled, and helped Adam stand up, “I’ll take care of this; you go take care of Pritchard. Take my car.”

Adam took the keys she dug out of her bag. Megan caught his hand and held it tightly before Adam left, making a quick stop in the bathroom to rinse his mouth and generally freshen up.

Then he drove five hours back and parked by the hospital. He wasn’t allowed to see Pritchard, and quickly lost his temper, storming out to drive down to the track instead. The wreck had been brought into Francis’ workshop. What was left able to be called a wreck, it had exploded into a million small pieces upon impact with the wall. Adam wasn’t even sure every piece had been found.

He took of his jacket and hung it right where Francis’ usually put his. He realized he had never been here without Francis’ jacket hanging right there. His heart twisted painfully under the anvil still weighing him down. The words he didn’t have the chance to say.

-:-

_It was still very cold. Had he been left in the depths of the water?_

_Time passed by so slow here. Maybe nobody had found him yet?_

_He might as well say it now, better late than never?_

_I love you._

_Adam._

-:-

Only when Adam ended the call with Sarif, telling the man where he was and that he was okay, did he see the time. A quarter past midnight. The strong lights in the closed workshop made it hard to tell time. Adam and Francis had lost track of time several times, just talking about nothing as the hours swirled past them.

Adam decides to go home, new eyes for a new day, ready to see new things. He stood up, knees cracking from sitting too long, and his back flared up with heat, pain dulled by the painkillers he had to go back to. His hand ghosted over the light switch, the light fading as he grabbed his coat.

He gave the room one last look and remembered he had turned the lamp on the workbench on to examine a few pieces closer. Then it flashed at him, a single piece which was shiny new amidst the scraps of metal. Adam leaned down closer and pulled out the shiny chrome metal. Francis would never install chrome in his bike, at least not fake chrome Adam noted when the paint came off.

If jackpot could ever be easier to spot, Adam had evidence right here ad he observed the piece closer under the lamp. He saw SHEP inscribed in the side, right before the piece had broken off, and knew who it was. He himself had gotten parts from the man when he still rode solo, when Megan couldn’t be there to help him.

But Adam also knew Sheppard was practically sponsoring a man named Ezekiel Sanders. Or, as Adam and all the street racers called the man, Zeke. That man had, like Adam, made his way into track racing by now, even had his own team for four years: Purity Fist.

Adam leaves the piece on the table, lamp forgotten as the man runs out to the car and makes his way over to where Sheppard was stationed. When he pulled up by the building and entered, he quickly asked his way to Sheppard’s little cave and busted through the doors.

“You really outdid yourself this time,” Adam growls, giving the man no time to retaliate when he sees an identical, but intact, replica of the one he picked up from the wreckage of Francis’ bike in the man’s hands.

Before the metal piece can hit the floor, Adam have thrown the first punch. Guards quickly run in and try to get Adam under control, but the lone man is filled with anger he doubts any one of them can understand.

When Adam walked out, he rubbed his hands. Covered in cuts and dripping blood, he promises to apologize to Megan when he must explain why there are blood stains on her seat. But for now, he needs to make a call, or two.

“Hey, sorry to wake you up my dear,” Jensen said in a mocking tone, “I have a friend in the hospital, and I do believe it is because of you, Zeke.”

_“I doubt you have much evidence, hanzer,” Ezekiel replied, referencing to the fact that Adam had metal in him._

“I actually just acquired the exact information I need,” Jensen pulls out an audio file on the car’s system, having uploaded it before he called, and plays it for Ezekiel to hear:

_Okay, it was Ezekiel Sanders. I haven’t even gotten the money yet, it’s still in the Cliff bank, this note will get it for you. And there should be a note, from Ezekiel in there._

The pained voice of Sheppard silences the other end of the call.

“So, looks like Zeke the weak is going to the _Creek_ ,” Adam ended the call and drove away, home, to maybe catch a few hours sleep until visiting hours opened, hoping to be allowed to see Pritchard.

But luck wasn’t on his side anymore when he found himself in his workshop, trembling fingers working on finishing the wrist watch he had been tinkering with to get working for the past months. Francis had almost caught him but ignored what he was doing to ask about his crash.

Adam sobbed as he screwed the tiny parts together, laying it flat on the table. The two, white and triangular metal-link straps on each side of a black case which held a clock face with the same black background, accented with orange, ticked happily under the bright light of Adam’s desk lamp. He didn’t know if he would be able to give it to Francis.

Because he didn’t know if Francis would wake up.

Would Francis remember him?

Adam sobbed again, this time tears welled up in his eyes, streamed down his cheeks in silence as he listened to the faint ticking sound trying hard to fill the void in his heart. A black hole eating him up.

-:-

Adam’s phone buzzed on the table, waking him with a jolt.

“Yes?”

_“Quick, son, Frank have woken up!”_

Adam threw his phone into his pocket, forgetting to end the call. He picked the watch up from the table and stood, back aching. His knuckles were sore. The bruise on his cheekbone was swollen.

It didn’t matter. All that existed in Adam’s mind was to see Francis. To tell him how many wrongs he had done up until now.

Sarif waited for Jensen by the door to Francis’ room, “Hey, Adam, that was fast, were you near?”

Adam’s eyes probably looked wild, “I was by the track, fell asleep.”

David suddenly stepped in close and hugged Adam, “You won’t believe it, they weren’t sure what happened, but it’s a fucking miracle.”

“What?” Adam pushed David away to look the man in the eyes, “What happened to Francis?”

“The crash, they kept him sedated to test him three times, because they couldn’t find any major injuries. Except for many bruises, and a fractured wrist, a few cracked ribs, maybe a ruptured lung, he’s doing fine,” Hearing David’s happy voice was a shock, but Adam couldn’t help pushing past the man.

“Francis,” Adam gasped and grabbed a handful of his trousers to steady whatever control he still had. Francis sat against the pillows of the bed, a white band aid taped to his forehead. His eyes were red.

-:-

Francis woke up to an empty room. But soon enough Sarif had walked in, seen him, and made a call. Francis couldn’t believe he was back.

Then Adam stepped into the room. And everything stopped to a screeching halt around them. The door closed behind the tall man and left them in silence.

Francis wanted to lunge himself at the man but turning to look at his visitor caused him to wince.

“Francis,” Adam stared at him, breath caught in his throat, waiting for Adam to work up the courage to say it, but was interrupted by Francis’ wince, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not the one who fractured my ribs, or punctured my lung,” Francis joked, but withheld a laugh to spare himself the pain, “It was the idiots’ own fault.”

Adam stepped up to the edge of the bed and put a hand on the other’s, “Shit I was worried sick for you.”

Francis felt a weight lifted from his heart, and he could breathe again. He snagged his hand back and wrapped his arms around Adam’s neck, burying his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. He waited for those arms to embrace him, but when nothing came, he thought he had misread the situation.

Francis suddenly pushed Adam away before his mind could respond with any logical action.

“Fuck, of course you wouldn’t like me, who am I to believe you even thought of me as anything else than a training partner?” Francis tortured himself and sat up straight on the bed. He cleared his throat, “Thanks for checking up on me.”

Adam could see the tears in Francis’ eyes as he looked away. This was his chance, make things right, right?

Francis was the first to speak again, “I thought you would’ve come with Megan, you live together, why isn’t she with you?”

“What?” Adam stuttered, his mind slowly piecing together the last few months of him trying to court this stubborn man, “Did you think Megan and I was a thing?”

“It’s as obvious as Malik and Evelyn! You hang around her all the time, you talk about her, and she literally lives with you,” Francis pointed out, “It’s obvious you wouldn’t like me.”

“No, I was desperately asking Megan for advice. I’ve relied on her since she first began assisting me in races,” Adam tried to quickly set Francis’ thoughts right, the man had gotten it all wrong, “I asked her for advice on how to impress you.”

Pritchard’s eyes grew, realization settled like the calm after a storm in his mind.

“It’s you I like, it’s you I’ve tried to get to, Francis,” Adam pulled the man in for a gentle hug, “Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

This time it was Francis who didn’t move, his hands were motionless, and when he blinked, he couldn’t do anything about the tears of joy staining Adam’s jacket.

“Please, say something, Francis?”

Francis inhaled, shaking, sobbing, pulling back to bury his face in Adam’s strong shoulder. His arms snaked their around Adam’s waist, hands grasped for something, gaining handfuls of Adam’s jacket’s fabric, before he spoke.

Adam felt the words mumbled against his shoulders, but he couldn’t hear them, so he pulled Francis back and looked him the eyes.

They were impossibly close, and Francis couldn’t help but lean in closer, stopping Adam’s lips from forming any words. They stayed, just like that, lips moving gently against each other, “I love you, you confusing pile of poop.”

Adam chuckled, that was a first to be called, “And I love you, you assuming idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's probably room for improvement. Hope you enjoyed it tho.
> 
> You can find my more artful works on Twitter/IG/DA @ AquiterCorona and on Pillowfort @ Aquiter, feel free to follow me!


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